Acceptance
by Yin1
Summary: Aya is broken, yet only one person knows the true extent of his pain. Is that person willing to take away the pain or will he give up? Please R&R, I haven't written in quite sometime so I'm still in the clouds. REVISED. R&R please.


ACCEPTANCE.

Disclaimers: Weiss Kreuz belongs Koyasu Takehito, it isn't mine, thought I'm trying to persuade it to donate it to me.

Warnings: Angst. This contains yaoi, meaning male/male relationships, if your are offended feel free to left this fic unread, I really don't care. If I do know what yaoi is and do like it, then please read and tell e what you think. This fic was written under a high dose of painkillers so bear with the grammar and mistakes. I hope you all like it, and if you do, please drop a line, ne? I don't have a beta reader and English is not my first language so don't be too critical. bows respectfully

Rating: R.

Acceptance.

By: Yin.

It was hard for him to breathe, burgundy strands of hair stuck to his face stubbornly and water sloshed around him, splashing him repeatedly with powerful waves that left him gasping for what little air his abused lungs were able to weakly inhale. He felt the currents shift and saw as his body was being steadily elevated by a gigantic wave and his scream was strangled through the sudden gurgle of salt water that invaded his wet mouth...........

Aya came awake with a jerk, his mouth open as he took in great gulps of air and held the damp sheets with white knuckled fists. He gingerly wiped his face, unconsciously searching for the suspicious wetness that always came with that dream. His skin trembled and was covered with a thin sheet of perspiration. Smooth ripples of pain wracked his body continuously; he was unable to actually control his pain at night. Still, the darkness was such a good friend of his that he couldn't obscure his thoughts and deeds in its spiteful presence. He pushed back sweaty locks of hair with clammy hands, a careless gesture that he had acquired over years of nervousness and rested his head back on the sleep-flattened pillow.

It was ironic that in his nightmare he placed himself in same situation that his own sister had died, he knew it was because he felt guilty. After the fall of Esset, Weiss had been disbanded and though his comatose sister had awakened, he had stayed away from her; knowing that if he came near, danger would be just around the corner. During his time as an assassin he and his teammates had made many enemies and he refused to let his sister be used as a tool to cause him harm. So he had stayed away and unknowingly, that had been the worst thing that he could have done. She had gone on an outing with her friends, the simple dates that teenagers liked to be part of and thought were important for their years of adolescence. The group of friends had gone to the seaside, Aya-chan had been dared to swim out into the sea, touch a floating piece of wood nearby and swim to shore again. Aya-chan had valiantly accepted the dare...........she drowned.

When Aya thought about it, her way of dying had been so foolish that he hadn't believed it when he'd heard it from Manx. He insisted on seeing her body so that the fact that she was dead would be implanted on his stubborn mind. He had been angry, so furious that he had wrecked his car on purpose and caused a horrible traffic accident. After all the time he had spent to keep her alive it was unfair for her to have died that way, unjust for her to have died at all. The situation was comic when a normal person thought about it. Aya had lost the will to live when his sister died. Now he no longer cared, only drugs could ease his pain for a temporary amount of time.

Aya stared about his apartment, composing his mind into a state of indifferent boredom, the character he had deliberately molded for himself since that night. He walked silently to the window, his toes grinding greedily into the soft texture of the dark carpeting as he sat by the glass pane that separated him from the world. A white hand shot out with intended sureness and grabbed the crushed pack of cigarettes from the nearby coffee table, with a soft curse he rose, realizing that he had left his lighter in one of the pockets of his jeans. Aya fumbled blindly through the drawer and came up with a box of matches. Sighing in contentment as he lit his cigarette, he fervently hoped for the nicotine to calm his frazzled nerves, he regretted that he didn't have any weed to totally forget the way he felt on these nights. Shrugging, he decided to settle for the cancer stick, it would kill him slower.

He visibly relaxed as he inhaled the cloud of tobacco, rolling it in his mouth and letting it caress his tongue, then blowing it back out with a gentle parting of cracked lips. He turned to look out the window but was met with his own reflection. Grimacing, he turned away; the sight that had greeted him was not at all pleasing to the eye. He was painfully thin, and could easily count his protruding ribs, his hair was limp and dull, giving off a dim reflection of what it used to be. His arms looked like crooked sticks, bent at strange angles because he had to move them or position them awkwardly due of the purplish needle marks that left his limbs racing with pain, but the euphoria that he was subjected to later made all the pain worth it.

It didn't matter to 'him', the thought of his errant lover brought a bitter smile to his lips, yet he sat and refused to even think about it, it was too hard for him to let out all his thoughts and emotions after successfully holding them back for so long, he wasn't going to be bested by a mere moment of desperate isolation. He made the firm decision to enjoy his cigarette and then go to bed.

The door opened with a soft squeak, giving an ordinary person the idea that whoever was on the other side was considerate and wanted the occupant of the room to remain undisturbed by the late entrance. Unsurprisingly, Aya had gone past the point of caring, he simply tilted his head and pressed the left side of his face against the cold glass of the window and brought a long leg up to be clasped by both his hands. He looked into the obscurity of the bedroom, not even having to squint to see the tall silhouette of the man standing a few feet away from him.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the husky tenor reached his distant ears; he shook his head, knowing well that the other man couldn't see his movements in the dark. Aya closed his eyes, a gesture of resigned suffering and unwanted pain flitting through his pale features. He crushed the butt of his half smoked cigarette and turned his body to face the profile of his lover. He responded; his voice lifeless and noticeably uninterested, "It doesn't matter. I wasn't expecting you tonight."

He heard him sigh, and heard the gentle swoosh of a shirt hitting the floor followed by the dull thud of heavy belted slacks. Aya shivered, not knowing if it was from the cold or if it was due to what he knew was about to take place.

"I'm tired," he said.

"I'll make it good," was the calm response, "you know I always do."

And he did know; Aya thought, at the end of the night he was screaming out his lover's name like a fucking bitch in heat, and that he couldn't stand. The fact that he was temporarily putting his common sense in another person's hands appalled him, what was worse was that he doubted that same person's common sense and thinking ability. He heard a low chuckle from his lover, "You're thinking too much," a head was lowered slightly and he felt the silky brush of long hair against his face.

"You shouldn't think so much, it's bad for you." Aya let long fingered hands swiftly dispose of his drawstring pants and felt them slide down his legs to form a pale pool of grey silk on the floor. Gracefully he walked naked towards the bed, shameless about his obvious nudity and the one of the man that followed him with the deliberate stealth that a tiger hunts its prey, the only difference was that the specific prey in this case didn't care whether he lived or died.

Aya slumped carelessly on the mattress and rested his limp arms on the rumpled sheets; he lifted his legs in a practiced motion, and spread them. He fully exposed himself without qualms; he saw the eyes of his lover devour him, from the skinny chest to the limp protrusion of flesh that rested comfortably in a nest of bright red curls. A hand cupped his balls and gently massaged them. He would have thought that to be a degrading action, had it been under different circumstances, yet he knew acted like his lover had always wanted him to act, like a whore. When Aya actually thought about it, he really was a whore. He had whored for money and was still doing it, besides the booze and drugs that came with the other man were always welcome. He was addicted, yet he could no longer distinguish what was his addiction, the sex or the drugs. A slim body came atop him, muscled the in proportions Aya had once possessed, he felt the jutting length of a hardened cock against his inner thigh. Aya turned his face away, as usual, making a feeble attempt to put up some resistance.

"I can't do this in the dark tonight, turn on the lamp," he said throatily.

The distinctly male weight left him along with the hand that was stroking him so expertly, and he breathed in a sigh of relief. He knew that his brief moment of freedom would be short-lived, because he couldn't deny that he wanted the other man who had impaled him numerous times. He hated the unconcealed truth, and that was that he had been thrilled by what they had done, by the whispered dirty talk that ignited a flame in him and hardened him to the point of stimulating pain.

A dim glow illuminated the room, it was a ridiculous excuse for a source of light, but Aya figured it would have to do. He saw his lover stalk back

to the bed, the toned body painted in shadows, he moved swiftly towards him. Aya laid back; watching him from the thin veil of his heavy lidded eyes, his mind had gone numb and now he only wanted to scream at the other man and tell him to fuck him. He still couldn't believe that he had lowered himself to this level, but he needed the other man, and he was even able to admit it freely, he was broken badly and his mind was in shambles. Aya's arms lifted to grip firm shoulders and he pressed his lips to the crook of a smooth neck. Letting his teeth rake the smooth column he was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a low growl.

He was pushed back on the bed in a violent move and was then quickly straddled by long legs. Greedy lips crushed his own and he allowed the warm tongue to heat his insides and his own tongue slithered to meet his lover's. His upper limbs went about the long neck in a fierce embrace; a strangled moan escaped him as he pressed closer to the warm body atop him. He broke free from the kiss, panting heavily and his face merely inches away from intense and watchful green eyes. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, Aya reached out to light the other lamp on the night table and he twisted his face away from questioning eyes.

An arm reached out caress his left hip and his lover asked, "How do you want it?"

Aya shifted closer to Schuldich and replied, "Hard."

A feral grin was flashed at him and their lips met again.

ende

Okay, after you read this u must be asking yourself, what the hell was that? To tell the truth I don't even know, I just got up and started typing whatever came to my mind, I have no idea how this crazy one-shot came about. If you liked it I'm glad if u didn't don't flame 'cause I wrote this at 2 am and I probably won't even remember posting it. All I have to say is that if you come across other crazy fics like these from me then read them if you want, but my personal thoughts were that this fic was as insane as I currently am.


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